


The Recovered Logs of Astronaut Mark Watney, 2036

by blue_eyed



Category: The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Brief Mention of Suicide, Gen, Inappropriate Humor, Mark Watney is morbid, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_eyed/pseuds/blue_eyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of lost logs from Mark's time on Mars.</p><p>Note: The mention of suicide is nothing worse than was in the book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Recovered Logs of Astronaut Mark Watney, 2036

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alessandriana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandriana/gifts).



Log Entry: Sol 12

I miss people. Even Mahoney back in NASA. And I hate that guy. He’s a smug douche, but I’d kill for the opportunity to hear him drone on about how hot the girl he banged last night was. I’d then punch him but you know. Human voices. 

I’ve done solitary, but I’ve done solitary around people. This is a whole different deal. Earth don’t even know I’m in solitary. Solitary training in NASA has nothing on this. I definitely should write a report about how useless solitary training was in an actual solitary situation. 

I need to contact Earth, but in order to contact Earth I need a survival plan but if I plan all this out and then can’t contact Earth when I could’ve just offed myself in a morphine induced fugue? That is going to suck. 

Log Entry: Sol 12 (2)

Okay, emo moping over. I’ve got a survival plan to refine.

Log Entry: Sol 12 (3)

I have the beginnings of a plan. It’s tentative, but the preliminary math looks good. I’m going to end today on a high note. Rations and going through the crew’s personal data to find entertainment. They won’t mind. They may not find out. 

Thanks for that thought, brain. Fuck you. 

Time to lose myself in...Happy Days? Whatever floats your boat, Lewis. Weirdo.

Log Entry: Sol 15

I really really want a beer. I wonder if I can make ice? The pressure outside means that water boils off, so leaving it outside won’t help. Hmm, something to ponder, anyway. 

Log Entry: Sol 18

I still can’t get the stink of shit out of my nose. Even if I do an EVA, I can still smell it. This had better be worth it. I suppose I’ll have to wait a few days to see if the doubling works. Then, I shall have my field. And hopefully, food growing in it.

Log Entry: Sol 19

The manual labour is mostly done, thankfully - it was back breaking using inefficient tools to move soil. My muscles are killing me, and as nice as doing things is, I’m looking forward to a break. 

All this work means I’m having full rations, but this really isn’t helping either - I’m eating food quicker. I’m running out of time. I need a day to think. To consider and fully flesh out the ‘Keep Mark Watney Alive 2k36’ plan.

Ugh, so tired, so wired. 

Fuck it, I’m taking some Vicodin and knocking myself out. There’s enough here for a real party if I wanted one. A couple extra to take the edge off isn’t gonna hurt. I’ve never considered an addiction before, and I’m not planning on acquiring one now, but damn if I don’t sleep and reset my brain I’ll end up accidentally blowing myself up.

Log Entry Sol 40:

I’ve had Abba stuck in my head for a few days now. Even at night, over and over while I try to sleep. 

_My, my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender. Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way_

I occasionally pondered insanity during my NASA training. 70’s disco was never a factor, even that time I got pneumonia and a crazy fever. I hallucinated many things, never Abba. 

Log Entry: Sol 50

Water! 

Log Entry: Sol 51

Potatoes! Tiny, green, gorgeous potato plants. I am secure enough to admit I had a little cry when rows of green greeted me this morning. I haven’t felt this pure unadulterated joy since I got onto the Ares mission. Plants! Food! I blasted out Young Hearts, Run Free and had a dance around the HAB because no one is actually watching. 

Log Entry: Sol 70

The Rover is a pain in my ass. Not only is it so cold I’m seriously considering using a radioactive generator for heat, it’s still not cold enough to give me ice cubes. Still ice-cold water makes a change from tepid, HAB-temperature water. 

Log Entry: Sol 73

So, Sirius 4 is going well, mostly. 

I made the mistake of trying to dismantle and move the solar cells in the evening, after they’ve charged. I almost wrenched my shoulders trying to catch one when I misjudged the edge of the Rover (because, you know, I couldn’t _see_ ). So that task it now left for the morning after. 

The only real downside is toilet breaks, which I have to do in tupperware, essentially. And the fact that I can’t stand in teh Rover. Oh, and the lack of a proper bed. But you know, you’ve got to take the good with the bad. And the good will be a way of contacting Earth. I’m prepared to put up with a lot for that. 

Log Entry: Sol 80

I’m starting to enjoy sleeping in my nest of crew jumpsuits. It’s like a fort, made out of junk. That can’t be normal.

Log Entry: Sol 95

Back in the HAB! I can stand inside! I can take off my freaking suit! I treat myself to a shower because Christ, I stink, even over the manure-laden soil. 

I wash the claustrophobic days of Sirius 4 down the drain, rolling my sore shoulders. The water comes off me black, not even worth recycling to water the plants. 

Now I need to try and fix a radio. Here’s hoping it’s a mechanical problem that I can fix, and not a software issue that I really really can’t. 

Log Entry: Sol 97

I bawled today because there are people on Earth that know I am alive and holy fucking shit. I might actually get off the planet. 

I cannot believe I am talking to people. It’s possibly the most frustrating conversation I’ve ever had, given I’m transcribing letter by letter, but beggars cannot be choosers here. 

I...probably shouldn’t be logging every inane thought that crosses my mind any more. If this comes off the planet the psych department will have a field day. I’m willing to use my time here to further the overall scientific knowledge of humanity, but not at the expense of my own mental landscape. 

I wonder if I can delete logs? I bet Johansson can. 

Oh, I wonder if I’ll be able to talk to the others? I’d really like to tell them that this isn’t their fault. Not that they’ll believe me.

Log Entry: Sol 98

They’ve not told the crew I’m alive, the spineless assholes. They won’t do it until they are sure I’m not doomed to die here. I can almost see what they’re doing, but it makes me so angry. The crew are mourning me, for fuck’s sake, and I'm here farming potatoes!

Log Entry: Sol 110

Holy shit, I take it back. NASA are killing me with all this talk. I know they have a pathological need to track, monitor, and analyze the shit out of things, but so boring when I have to trek to the Rover 5 times a day to get mail to find out all I’ve got is ‘Check this according to this procedure, oh by the way, it’ll take 4 hours, thanks.’

Log Entry: Sol 122

I had a feeling things were going too well. I had potatoes to last til Sol 900, I had contact with Earth, and the crew. All going swimmingly. So, of course, I ended up flying across the surface of Mars in an airlock. 

I’m back at the Rover and have looked at the HAB. The HAB canvas has ripped almost perfectly around the seal, which is pretty good - means no complicated fixing. 

The downside is my farming days are over. I need to go count up how many potatoes I’ve got left and how many sols I can survive. But, ugh. I’ll do it in the morning. I need to sleep; it’ll be easier to face my accelerated mortality in the morning. 

Log Entry: Sol 140

Letters from the crew! I’ve missed these guys so much. Martinez’s letter was perfect, wonderful. I haven’t laughed that long and hard in a while. Since they left, actually. It feels good. 

Log Entry: Sol 145

I am starving. I need a full ration. I can’t cope with three quarter rations any more right now. The hunger is distracting, making me snappish, cranky, and I can feel my brain slowing down. I can’t afford that. I can rationalise one full ration today. 

Log Entry: Sol 150

Lewis and Beck are still beating themselves up. That’s going to happen for a while, and frankly, is getting a bit old. I want conversation not groveling and pity.

That’s unfair. I get that y’know, they left me on Mars. And that must suck for them. But totally understandable. The worst kind of luck. Nothing more, nothing less. I’ve become zen about the whole thing otherwise I’d eat myself alive. 

They could do more for me by distracting me from my current situation.

Log Entry: Sol 160

The launch of Iris failed epically. Didn’t even make it into orbit. Its taking all my willpower not to break something. I can’t afford it, both from a physical exertion and a need for spare parts perspective. 

I feel so fucking useless, sitting here. There’s a lot I can do, but nothing that can help me get home. I just need to...survive. 

Log Entry; Sol 165

Apparently there is another plan. We’re getting dangerously close to everything going to shit. Must try to stay positive. 

Log Entry: Sol 192

I...wasn’t expecting this plan.

The plan:

The Hermes comes back for me  
I head to Schiaparelli  
I strip the MAV of literally anything not bolted down  
I head up to orbit  
The Hermes crew literally swing by and pick me up  
I cruise home with the guys, who are extending their space flight by 533 days

I have a lot of planning to do, and frankly, I’m overwhelmed by the fact that everyone is willing to make the sacrifice of over a year of time at home to save me. 

Space has turned me into a weepy fucker. Can’t even blame the ubiquitous dust and sand - there’s none in the HAB. 

Log Entry: Sol 197

Fuck. Well, being on my own again isn’t too bad when there’s a plan to get me off this bastard of a planet but I’m not happy about it. I now need to design my own Rover modifications to get to Schiaparelli without dying.

I’ll take a day, get some ideas, and go from there. 

I’ve told Earth I’m good, and that I’m following through on the plan. Here’s hoping they’ll still be coming to get me in 352 Sols.

Christ. A year of no contact, while modifying the the Rover and then travelling thousands of kilometers to the MAV. Though the MAV should be able to contact Earth. So that’s something to aim for.

I guess it’s time to get started. 

Log Entry: Sol 197 (2)

Okay, so I think I have a plan. I’ve figured out how to not need the reclaimer. So that means I just need to deal with the Big Two, that hopefully doesn’t need the RTG. I don’t fancy cuddling plutonium for a hundred or so Sols. 

Log Entry: 205

My back is slowly getting better. I might be able to get back to work soon. I’ve not been entirely lazy, I’ve got a couple of configurations to test for the solar panels, and hopefully one of these will be doable and efficient. I’ve got to be able to remove them each for the most productive charging positioning, and then get them back, without many issues.

Almost done with my Three’s Company rewatch, and got through Death On The Nile, which made for interesting cultural whiplash. I imagine Three’s Company would be a lot shorter if they employed the little grey cells.

Log Entry: Sol 448

I feel slightly obsessed, but this is the most important trip I’ve packed for. I’m walking around the HAB reciting my list and looking for anything I might have missed. I do the same with the Rover. There’s nothing I can see that I’ve missed. 

I’ve got food and water, vitamins, a med kit. A shelter. The Big Two, the RTG, solar panels, all the disco and Hercule Poirot I’ll ever need. 

The solar panels have been charging all day, and I’ll put them on the rover early tomorrow, before setting out.

I’m ready to leave.

Log Entry: Sol 448 (2)

I need to leave early tomorrow. I walk around the HAB, both checking one more time (I could take a test on the contents of the HAB at this point), and saying goodbye. This thing has kept me alive for over a year. I’m...not going to miss it. That’s a lie. I’ll miss it like I miss training: happy I’ve done it and it’s over, slightly nostalgic but also so happy I’ll never have to go through it again. 

I am going to miss this cot while I’m in the Rover. I have a feeling my bedroom won’t be quite as good. 

I take a last shower, and shave - washing is not going to happen in the Rover, so that will be horrific: and then settle down for a hopefully good night’s sleep.

Log Entry: Sol 499

I had a truly terrifying nightmare about rolling again. This time the roll breached the RTG, which leaked it’s wonderfully toxic innards all over _my skin, my hands; my left hand went numb, skin sloughing off._

I woke up with a left hand that was asleep from lying on it. Fuck you too, brain. 

Log Entry: Sol 504

A BLIP FROM THE MAV. Contact again. HOLY SHIT. This means I can navigate straight to the MAV instead of fucking about for a while trying to spot it on the horizon. 

I did a weird laugh-sob when I saw it. This is what exhaustion, with a helping of boredom meets existential fear looks like, apparently.

Soon I’ll be able to have actual conversations. Hell, if all goes well I’ll be seeing people soon. Actual humans.

Log Entry: Sol 505

Hugging a landing strut is hard in an EVA suit but I did it because I am fucking determined. 

Log Entry: Sol 506

Okay, this part of the plan? I’m not so fond of. The changes I need to make to the MAV are horrific. 

I’m basically chucking anything that’s not bolted down, and a few things that are, to make the MAV as light as possible to get to Hermes. I’m only having a seat because I need the belt. Half the walls are being chucked, replace with HAB canvas and if I ever see this stuff again I might lose it. If this all goes wrong I’m going to wrap myself up in a load before I die, mummified in a HAB coffin of my own design. 

Log Entry: Sol 529

I’m talking to the crew, in real time. This is insane. I miss them so much it hurts; we’re a team, and I can’t wait to be back with them again. 

I redouble my efforts to get the MAV modifications done, so we can do as many tests as possible. NASA are up my ass again, _have you done this? Are you sure you’ve done this? Check again? How about that? You really need to do that precisely, be careful_ ad infinitum. 

Log Entry: Sol 545

All the tests have come back clear. I’m done. I’m ready to go. In 4 days I’ll be hurtling into space in a mangling and stripped MAV and hitching a ride on Hermes.

I can’t sleep. I can barely keep still. I’m impatient and shitting myself and oh god, 4 days of waiting. 

Keep it together, Watney. 

Log Entry: Sol 549

T-minus 8 hours. I can’t sleep at all. Nothing is making this any easier. I might throw up. Which will suck, as I ate rations for the first time in weeks. Don’t want to lose that. 

Shitcakes. 

Log Entry: Sol 549 (2)

T-minus 4 hours

Waiting. So much waiting. 

Sitting in the MAV, twiddling my thumbs. Goddamn it. 

I should have deleted these logs. At least I’m not taking them with me. NASA will have to come and get them. 

I’m gonna stop now. Launch should be soon. Need to be ready. I’m strapped in; even got a shirt as a cushion because I doubt the dampening capabilities of this craft.

See you on the other side, hopefully.


End file.
